Second Cycle: Slayer
by Dark Puck
Summary: Pre-Matrix. Deals with those of the Matrix's second incarnation - that of vampires, werewolves, and ghosts. The Twins' story up.
1. Wolves' Story

the matrix  
second cycle

part 1: wolves' story

* * *

If you are not shooting you should be reloading or running.

* * *

_Germany, 1889_

Two boys lay on the floor in a white room. There were no doors, no windows, and no amenities, just four walls, a floor, and a ceiling, all white.

The larger of the two boys stirred and woke, brown eyes opening and darting around the room. "Where...?" he wondered as he sat up, raising a hand to run in through his black hair. A groan came from his companion, a brunet with a small stature, as he too awoke. Confused grey eyes opened and looked around the room before he sat up as well.

Their eyes fell on each other, then scents flooded their noses: sterilised room, themselves, and each other. "Cain?" the brown-haired boy asked as the other queried, "Abel?"

Cain rose to his feet and helped the smaller boy up. "Do I... know you?" he asked.

Abel shook his head. "I... don't know."

They both looked around the room, Cain wrinkling his nose. "Bleah. I don't like the way it smells in here. It stings my nose."

"I agree," Abel told him, wandering to one of the walls and examining it.

"What are you doing?" Cain asked him curiously.

"Looking for a way out," Abel told him as he ran his fingers over it carefully. After awhile, bored, he gave up.

"How can we be in a room with no doors? How'd we get in?" he muttered.

"Search me," Cain answered as the younger boy sat beside him. "Hey, how old are you?" he asked after a moment.

Abel thought about it for a moment. "I'm not sure. You?"

"I don't know either," Cain sighed. "I don't think we're adolescents, though."

Their musings were interrupted as a door simply appeared in the wall, bringing with it three men in nice suits who smelled of forest, snow, and... nothing else.

It was so _wrong_ the boys took a startled step back. "Both of you are obsolete," one remarked. "You will be deleted," another put in, then the last man, the one in the middle, warned, "Do not attempt to resist."

Cain and Abel looked at each other, then leapt to their feet and ran in opposite directions as the three men raised Colt .45s and opened fire.

Both were incredibly swift of feet, but bullets were faster, and Abel took a shot to the leg. He went down hard as paralysing gripped his entire body. "Pathetic," one of the men said, raising his pistol and aiming for the boy's head. Cain struck without warning, his coarse black hair spreading down his neck, over his face, and down his body as his suddenly sharp teeth sank into the suited man's throat, throwing him down and sending his shot flying way off the mark and into the face of another man.

Three opponents to one in a manner of seconds. Cain, the fur on his muzzle matted with bright red blood, helped Abel up. As fur met skin, the knowledge of how to change halfway came to Abel, and he transformed as well, his teeth sharpening as brown fur spread over his slender frame.

Both of them grinned wolfishly at the remaining man, slowly circling him like the wolves they now resembled. Not showing a trace of fear, he aimed at Cain; Abel struck him from behind. In seconds, Abel's fur was as bloody as Cain's and they no longer had to worry about guns.

Then Abel fell as that burning pain reasserted itself, a hundred times worse now that he'd changed. Cain caught him before he hit the floor and quickly dragged the younger boy out before the door could disappear. "We have to get out of here," he said, wrapping Abel's arm around his shoulders to provide his injured comrade support. "If they're trying to kill us, I doubt staying put is a good idea."

"We've got to... change back," Abel gasped. "Fur's too... obvious!" Cain spared his grey-eyed companion a worried glance - he was in serious pain - and nodded. As the walked and limped, the fur retracted and their teeth returned to normal. The blood stayed.

An alarm klaxon went off, announcing their escape, and Cain took off. Abel gritted his teeth and took his full weight, trying his hardest not to scream as white-hot pain slammed from his toes to his hip with every other step. At least it didn't hurt quite as much as it had when he was furred.

The duo fled through a seemingly endless corridor, though Cain noticed they were running up a slight slope. "There!" Abel panted, pointing ahead to a staircase.

As the words "_Halten__ Sie rechts dort auf_!" rang out behind them, they had bolted upwards. The stairs were covered by a pair of storm cellar-like doors that burst open when the boys' shoulders struck them as one with equal force; Cain and Abel exploded into a frozen, snow-covered forest.

All sorts of scents assailed their noses and Abel whimpered as the sheer amount of information flooding into him nearly overwhelmed his senses. Neither noticed the sudden drop in temperature, so intense were the odours coming to them.

Cain smelled the cold wetness of a cave nearby and hustled his nearly delirious companion inside, where Abel collapsed, clutching his injured leg and whimpering in pain. "Oh, Source, it hurts!"

Cain was at a loss; he didn't know what to do.

"_Peut-être__ je pourrais aider?_" a new voice asked in a language neither understood. Cain snarled, stepping protectively in front of his friend, demanding that the stranger identify himself. A man not that much taller than Abel came into view and bowed. "I am Wingless," he said in a more familiar tongue. "I can help him."

Wary, Cain stepped aside, allowing the sable-haired stranger near his... cousin, he finally settled on as the right term. It was as good as any. Wingless knelt beside the moaning Abel and pulled the torn material of his pants away from the wound, inspecting it then turning to Cain.

"You two are werewolves?"

Cain was suddenly very aware of the metallic tang of blood in and around his mouth. "I... uh... that is, we..." He didn't know.

"We get furry," Abel gritted out through clenched teeth.

Wingless nodded. "Silver. Interesting, it looks as if the both of you were slated for deletion and managed to escape. That's rare. Incidentally, this is going to hurt."

A second afterwards, Abel screamed in pain as his entire body seized up. Thinking that they'd been betrayed, Cain leapt for the stranger, only to be tossed aside like a rag doll. Wingless drew back, dropping a bloody bullet to the floor. "Silver. It is deadly to you both."

"How do you know this?" Cain demanded, getting up from where he'd been thrown one-handed.

"You are werewolves," Wingless replied. "It is common knowledge."

"Not to us," Cain muttered. Wingless looked to him with interest. "Your memories were erased?"

Both werewolves shrugged, which answered the question. "Very interesting. Do either of you know who you are?"

"He's Cain, and I'm Abel," the hurt werewolf replied, a trace of pain still evident in his voice.

Cain hesitated a moment, then said slowly, "When we first woke up, I didn't know my name."

"Neither did I," Abel agreed after a moment. "But... I knew his scent and his scent said he was Cain." The black-haired werewolf nodded his agreement with his "cousin's" statement.

"Identification by scent... wiped memories... the appearance of teenaged boys... yes, you'd be them, all right."

"Who?" Cain demanded, eager for any information about himself and Abel.

Wingless, however, only informed them of the details of their lycanthropy. "This place," he added, "is Germany, circa 1890." He gave them nothing more but this, "If you are ever in need of aid, seek out the Merovingian. He will provide a haven for you."

Wingless then pointed to Abel. "You will need to stay off that leg until the silver has filtered from your blood." Then he left as suddenly as he had arrived, leaving behind a confused pair of werewolves.

* * *

Tough times don't last. Tough people do.

* * *

"Ah, _mon__ ange._ Did you find them?"

"Yes. They killed three of the new agents in their escape, though the younger one, Abel, took a silver bullet to the leg."

"He still lives?"

"Yes. The wound was non-fatal, though the silver would have crippled him had I not removed the bullet. He will recover."

"_Bien__, bien_ You gave them the information?"

"Of course."

"How long, do you think?"

"By Cycle's end."

"Two years."

The man who had called himself 'Wingless' nodded, and the Merovingian smiled. "Only boys, and yet three Agents lie dead... _l'Architecte_ was a fool to order the lycanthropes and the vampires deleted."

"They did spend more time fighting each other than rebels."

"_Oui, oui_. They will not do so under me. How goes the search for _les fantômes_?"

The black-haired man winced. "Not well. When they phase and escape through walls, Seth is the only one able to follow them, and they attack him when he does. He's lucky he hasn't needed rebooting yet."

"I see. Zey will be perfect assassins, don't you agree?"

Wingless smiled. "Aren't I your perfect assassin?"

"_Oui, oui, bien sûr_," the Merovingian replied, giving his right-hand man a cheerful smile. "How many can fight themselves, after all? _Les jumeaux_will be second only to you, Seraph, _mon__ miroir angélique_."

Seraph was impressed by the Merovingian's planning for the future. It was only a matter of time before the System came to view his haven for Exiled programs as a threat, so he was amassing those Exiles that had no reason to love the System. Assassins who could not be traced, bodyguards who were extremely hard to kill, even a pair of "fallen" angels.

The Merovingian and his new wife, an intuitive program rescued, nearly at the cost of his life, from the wall of water that had ended the First Cycle and begun the Second, had saved a great many of this Cycle's Agents, werewolves and vampires. Many had been recently programmed and therefore had the appearance of children. The youngest was a vampire called Tiger, who was all of ten years old.

Seraph's sometime-partner, Seth, had taken him under his wing as both sides of the species rivalry posed a danger to the boy, especially when conflict broke out, as it often did between Vlad, the vampires' leader, and Cujo, the werewolves' leader. Both of them were nineteen and had become leader by default, as they were the eldest of the programs.

Seraph had heard a rumour that these latest Agents were produced as adults, having the training embedded in their programming. Supposedly it made them better. Remembering his own "childhood" in Eden, the first Matrix, he could not help but feel a pang of pity for these latest Agents. Learning things the hard way proved much more beneficial.

Cain and Abel, as well as the ghostly Twins, would soon join the ranks of the Merovingian and round out the "collection" - the sixteen-year-old Twins were the only ghost-type programs in existence and had been deemed too dangerous, while 15-year-old Abel and 17-year-old Cain were the only speed-and-scent oriented werewolves who had escaped deletion.

Seraph smiled once more. When that day came that the System tried to get rid of them, It would find the job much harder than anticipated.

Much harder.

* * *

There are many paths to the top of the mountain, but the view is always the same.

* * *

_Germany, 1890-92_

No one in Kusel knew where the two boys had come from. They had simply walked into the village one day and asked politely if any would provide them with shelter in exchange for work. The village blacksmith took them on, mostly out of pity, and taught them his trade. The boys made no attempt to hide their monthly... problem, but as there was a week's grace period between each of the triggering phases, last crescent for the elder and new moon for the younger, no one was ever hurt when they changed and they drove out the local vampires, it was tolerated.

The pair, who simply referred to each other as Cain and Abel, kept mostly to themselves at first. They rarely spoke, except to each other, but they worked hard and stayed out of everyone else's way, retreating to the loft where they stayed at night except for when they changed. They were not liked, but they were tolerated.

A year and a half went by. Cain turned nineteen, Abel turned seventeen. The villagers had grown used to the adolescent werewolves and weren't as edgy around them. In return, the pair became more sociable, even joining the hunting party when invited. They were invited often, because they smelled prey before the dogs did.

They were also able to scent vampires when they attacked, so when the wind changed and the unmistakeable stink of bloodsuckers flooded both their noses, the werewolves led the hunters back in time to save their village from a raid led by a program desperate to prevent deletion of his kind by wiping out the werewolves and those who harboured them.

Cain and Abel led the counter strike, both half-changing to boost their attack power without losing their size as they simultaneously slammed headlong into the vampire colony.

It was a massacre.

The vampires had not expected a forceful retaliation led by the very cousins they were hunting, and they certainly had not expected the sheer _speed_ the two werewolves possessed: Cain and Abel seemed to be everywhere at once, guarding the children, striking hard at stragglers, splitting apart any that managed to regroup, and causing general chaos within the vampiric ranks.

A good deal of blood was spilled before the vampires retreated, leaving many of their brethren behind, dead or dying. Due to blood loss from a great many wounds, however, both Cain and Abel were severely weakened. They were let into the house of the village elder to rest and recuperate.

While they were healing, three strangers came to the village looking for werewolves. The injured cousins were smuggled out of the village and all of the Kuselites denied any knowledge of the pair in general. For some reason, the strangers bought it, and the werewolves were brought back after they left. A week after they were strong enough to return home, another stranger arrived, this one with long brown hair. Unlike the other strangers, he inquired as to the whereabouts specifically of Cain and Abel, as opposed to werewolves in general.

Despite the stranger's ready identification of himself as Seth and his easy-going nature, the Kuselites trusted neither him nor his questions. However, his green eyes seemed to look straight through the people into their souls, and he had an uncanny ability to tell if he was being lied to.

He was able to get the information he desired and soon paid the wolves a visit.

"You two have been making quite the name for yourselves," he greeted them with a disarming smile.

Abel, who had healed more than his cousin, rose to his feet. "Who are you and what do you want?" Neither Cain nor Abel was trusting of strangers.

"My name is Seth. I work for the Merovingian. He is interested in... acquiring your services."

The cousins exchanged looks. "What's in it for us?" Cain asked, speaking for them both.

"Protection from Agents," Seth replied immediately. "Resurrection in case of deletion. Freedom to cause chaos and mayhem as long as you're subtle and don't break anything too expensive. You will of course be well-paid with upgrades and that which makes the world go 'round."

Cain motioned Abel to him, and the pair held a quick whispered conference that Seth, despite a worthy attempt on his part, was unable to overhear. Abel looked up at him after a moment. "What's the catch?"

"You work for the Frenchman until such time as he decides you are of an "age" to retire, and from then on until you feel like leaving."

"Are there vampires?" Cain wanted to know.

"Yes. They answer to Vlad, the werewolves answer to Cujo." The cousins exchanged looks that clearly read, 'Not Us.' It would be interesting, watching them encounter the brute of a wolf. Something told Seth he would not easily cow those two.

"How do these... hierarchies work?" Abel asked casually, as if out of simple curiosity and not a desire to throw a pipe bomb in the works.

"The strongest leads," Seth replied with a shrug.

Another whispered conference, then Cain poked his head out. "Any rules of engagement for dealing with the bloodsuckers?"

"Try to save any fighting for the Tournaments," Seth told them.

"Tournaments?" Abel this time; apparently they were taking turns.

"A once a month free-for-all, generally vampires vs. werewolves, but there are sane-species fights. You can fight one-on-one or in groups ranging anywhere from two to no more than five. Numbers do not have to match up. The only rules are no stakes, no silver bullets."

More discussion.

"Sounds interesting. We'll do it," Cain said at last.

Seth grinned.

* * *

"Now, kindly take one of those pistols off the wall so I can kill you in self defence!" - Mr. Nash, _Life's Work_

_

* * *

_

Both werewolves were rightly impressed by the _château_. They were _not_, however, impressed by Cujo. Neither cousin liked his scent or his bullying personality. He was the type who liked to see others in pain.

He came to see them shortly after they arrived, towering over Cain and the still-growing Abel and demanding their names. Cain ignored him; Abel leaned casually against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. "Who wants to know?" he asked, looking very unimpressed by the other wolf's bulk.

Cujo blinked, momentarily taken aback, then he advanced menacingly on the smaller man. "Cujo, leader of the Werewolf Pack!"

Abel snorted. "Dog pack, you mean, if they follow a mongrel like you." Cujo snarled and tried to hit Abel; his fist smashed through the wall as Abel ducked behind him.

Cain came to stand beside his cousin. "He seems quite slow, don't you think?"

"Physically or mentally?" Abel asked with an irritating smirk directed towards Cujo.

Cain's expression mirrored Abel's. "Both, of course."

Cujo snarled and started to change, growing a bit larger as fur spread over his body; Cain and Abel did the same. All three stopped halfway, the cousin's lithe, sleek bodies much more pleasing to the eye than Cujo's ungraceful bulk - his beautiful black-and-silver fur did much to improve his appearance, however.

Before either party could strike, however, Seth's head poked through the wall. "Cujo, go intimidate someone else. Cain, Abel, de-fur and get over here."

"This isn't over," Cujo snarled at the pair as he walked away. The Merovingian's left hand was to be obeyed.

"Good," Abel muttered to Cain. "I'd hate for people to think we're going to obey that idiot."

"I heard that!" Cujo yelled back.

There was another pair of boys standing before the Merovingian, the man who had saved Abel's leg standing just behind them. The pair was identical, from their shoulder-length white hair to their once-white clothing to their cold silver-grey eyes. Four of those eyes regarded the cousins in such a way that Cain was positive that they were both considering the optimal way to either kill them or torture them.

Possibly both.

One leaned towards his twin and said softly in a language neither wolf spoke, "_They do not look like much. We think they will be easily defeated._"

The other regarded the wolves again. "_We do not agree. They both bear battle scars; their eyes have seen death and their hands have caused it. We think that they would make formidable opponents and even better allies._"

Four could play that game. "_Ich wettete, daß wir sie nehmen könnten,_" Cain told Abel.

Abel, in turn, sized up the twins. "_Ich weiß nicht, Vetter. Beide von uns sind hier, weil wir in der Lagewaren, Mittel zu töten und weil wir Niederlage eine Vampirekolonie halfen. Ich habe ein Gefühl, daß sie hier aus ähnlichen Gründen sind._"

Seth and Seraph exchanged knowing, superior smiles. Both hands of the Merovingian could sense the rivalry already starting between ghost twins and wolf cousins. Judging the moment to be right, they simultaneously uploaded knowledge of French and the language of the rival pair to their charges: German to the Twins and English to the cousins.

All four boys jumped in surprise, then glared suspiciously at each other. "Come," said Seraph. "He's waiting."

The Merovingian smiled as he regarded the four teenagers. At last, he had the assassins and bodyguards he wanted. As the only ghosts, the Twins would answer to neither of the two hordes, and the werewolf cousins would most definitely defy Cujo's pack. Exactly as he had wanted it.

There was a ripple in the Matrix as the Second Cycle ended and the Third Cycle began. As anticipated, the werewolves and vampires in his territory were unaffected.

The Merovingian was well pleased.

* * *

_ Halten Sie rechts dort auf! - German. __"Stop where you are!"_

_ Peut-être je pourrais aider? __- French. "Perhaps I can be of assistance?"_

_ Oui, oui, bien sûr. - French. __ "Yes, yes, of course."_

_ mon miroir angélique - French. __ "My angelic mirror."_

_ Les __jumeaux__ - French. "The twins."_

_That would be it for this chapter's translations. The stuff left untranslated was done so on purposely because I think you're intelligent enough to figure it out, yes? _

_Part Two of my Cycles fanfiction, which deals mainly with the Exiled programs in the Matrix. It gives some back story for our favourite exiles, mostly the ones in the _château_. What can I say? Each part of Cycles will be posted in an unusual matter, aka 'whichever era I feel like doing at the moment._

_Oh, for future reference: The château is in America. Why, because Merv figures it'll take the system some time to find him over there, plus that's where it is in the movie. Listen very carefully when Link is talking to Neo: "Right in the middle of the city, about **500 miles due south**." Trin and Morpheus come out of the parking garage in (it is assumed) San Francisco, mainly because the 101 leads to San Francisco (yes, it does, look at a map of CA), and in the Freeway Chase, we see San Francisco in the background. Believe me, I asked my mom, who lived in CA most of her life, and she said that was San Francisco back there._

_Now, I know a lot of us are bad at math. I certainly am. However, and this may be hard to believe, **France**** is **_**not_ 500 miles due north of San Francisco_**_! Believe me, I've been to France, and if Merv were to live there, he would _sonot_ be on a mountain top! He'd be in the southern part of France, near the Mediterranean, or in/near Monaco. Better wine in that area.  
_


	2. Ghosts' Story

the matrix  
second cycle

part ii: ghosts' story

* * *

Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life.

* * *

_England, 1883_

Two young boys watched three suited men walking towards them. Each was the mirror image of the other, from the short white hair to the odd silver-grey eyes to the white breeches and shirts. They had no names, only numbers, 1 and 2 respectively, or the Twins collectively. They were programs, of course, and they knew it well. They also knew that they had been created to be assassins, though they weren't entirely sure at this point what an assassin _was_. They assumed it had to do with killing people; after all, that was what they were being trained to_ do_.

But 2 had heard the old men talking. They were taking too much pleasure in their training. Neither child understood why this was a bad thing. Wasn't it a game of sorts, something amusing to do? That was how the old men had been explaining it to them from the start. But 2 had heard that they were to be _deleted_, and of course found and told his Twin.

Eventually they had decided that _deleting_ someone was the same as killing them, and neither Twin wished to be _deleted_. They had decided to leave, and were about to do so in a rather spectacular manner. They had a certain ability that had not originally been provided to them: the ability to _phase_, to become insubstantial and thus pass through obstacles. This also allowed other things to pass through them, and 1 had discovered on accident that utilising this ability healed any injuries they had sustained.

They had attained this ability four years earlier, when a pretty lady had walked into their room, saying she knew of the project behind the creation of the Matrix's first - and failed - ghost programs. She told them what exactly had gone wrong with the System's version of phasing programmed into them and had fixed it. Not being fools, the then-six-year-old Twins had never mentioned the visitation to anyone, not even to their two-year-old sister. The old men had named her 3; they had named her Valkyrie and reacted violently when she was called otherwise. They also took to calling themselves One and Two, which were closer to names than 1 and 2.

Perhaps it was this independent streak of theirs that worried the old men, or perhaps their high intelligence. Finding their fixed ability to phase useful, they had scanned each other's programming to discover the makeup of their patch, then wrote an upgrade for Valkyrie. They had also taken over her education, insisting that she learn with them. They only allowed her to be separated from them during combat training.

Even now, as they were preparing to escape the old men and their facility, she was with them, trustingly holding One's hand. One turned to his Twin. "Are we ready?" The Twins, being acutely aware of each other's thoughts and emotions, tended to view themselves as one being in two bodies and therefore referred to themselves and each other in the first-person plural.

"Yes, we are," Two said with a cold smile. "We have them." With that, he strode quickly towards the suited men. Each one of the three raised a strange-looking gun and opened fire, but One, Two, and Valkyrie all phased, avoiding the bullets. One of the three men had time to look surprised before Two was upon them, bringing to bear a large shard of glass he had palmed after "accidentally" breaking a window during their escape.

The glass slit the throat of that first man, spraying Two with crimson blood. Two barely noticed as he leapt up and snapped the second man's neck, confiscating his firearm and, after taking a moment to figure it out, shot the third man twice in the chest. "Let's go," he said, dropping the weapon and reaching for his latest victim's gun. One had already grabbed the gun belonging to the first man. Two phased, ridding himself of the sticky blood, before sliding his new weapon into the waistband of his white breeches.

Thus did the Twins escape with their Sister, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.

* * *

Anything worth shooting is worth shooting twice.

* * *

_Scotland, 1885_

Two slipped into the barn he, One, and Valkyrie were currently using as their hiding place, bearing the food he'd managed to steal. He delivered the goods, then drew his brother aside to talk quietly while Valkyrie ate.

"We cannot go on like this," he said, absently toying with the horsetail he and One had taken to wearing as their hair grew longer.

"No, we cannot," One replied, casting a look to Valkyrie. "If we are caught, they will surely delete us."

Two also looked at the female program. "We cannot allow that."

"No, we cannot," One agreed.

Two considered the problem, as did One. Finally, Two offered, "We could always do as we were trained. We overheard some men talking when we were out."

One accessed the memories, then nodded as he reviewed the conversation about hiring an assassin to kill a certain man. "We will have to be careful," he cautioned. "If we aren't, it is likely they will try to cheat us."

"Yes. That is human nature," Two answered. "We could pretend to be fronts for an adult killer," he said after a moment.

One nodded. "That would be good. They might condescend to us, but they would not mock us if they thought we were go-betweens."

Two's mouth twitched. He hated being spoken to as if he were a stupid human child. "Perhaps we," he indicated his brother, "should make the deals. We," he now indicated himself, "would most likely end up killing them out of rage."

One nodded. His temper was notably longer than his brother's. "Besides," he added, "it is probably best that only one of us are seen. We stand out quite a bit."

Two nodded, for even in this cold land, they had seen no one else with skin as pale as theirs, or with white hair. If they were seen together or with Valkyrie, it would surely call the attention of the strangely dressed men to them.

"We will go out once night has fallen," One said, and Two nodded agreement.

* * *

They had gotten the job – or rather, their cover story had gotten the job. One had pretended to work for a man named Gemini – a task made extremely hard given the fact that both he and Two were unable to lie. Fortunately, he seemed to be very good at _twisting_ the truth to suit his purposes. It wasn't lying, but it wasn't telling the truth either. Being cryptic seemed to be a loophole as far as lying went. Someone had thought ahead as far as their programming was concerned.

One returned to their barn to let his brother know about their new job. Two volunteered to do the deed, and One nodded. He had acquired the job, and one of them needed to remain to guard Valkyrie. Once she was older, she would be able to guard herself, but for now, they could not leave her alone. Separation annoyed both of them, but it was for the greater good of their Sister, of whom they were fiercely protective.

Valkyrie was eight, and would be ready to defend herself accurately in two years if the Twins had anything to say about it. They made sure to train her near to exhaustion, but if their methods seemed cruel, it was all swept away by how they treated her after the training. They were attentive older brothers, massaging her sore muscles and helping to treat the wounds she received during training. Her ability to phase took care of wounds made in the physical plane, but they had discovered that they were able to wound each other when insubstantial to humans. The Twins' wounds would heal, albeit slowly, after returning to the physical and phasing again, but Valkyrie's would not, leaving them to make sure the cuts would not get infected.

She had a strong distaste for fighting, but she told them that she understood why they were teaching her to do so, which helped ease their collective guilt that rose from their harsh treatment of her during the training.

Two gave their Sister's white hair a farewell stroke before slipping out of the barn and into the night. One watched him go, and soon contacted him. _We stick out,_ he told his Twin. _We need to find a way to darken ourselves so as not to be caught._ Two agreed, and managed to locate a large puddle of mud. They were about as rare in England as beer was in Germany, after all.

He coated himself thoroughly in the gunk, expressing his displeasure at this the entire time through his link to his amused brother, who gave him the needed encouragement and told him to move along.

The deed was done swiftly and efficiently, aided by Two's phasing ability. A swift cut across the throat with a razor, and their target was dead. Two liked the feel of the razor and brought three back with him.

The next day, when the lord was discovered murdered in his bedroom, One collected their pay as the go-between and returned home to train Valkyrie and to learn with Two how to use the razors as combat weapons.

Gemini was in business.

* * *

Of all the thirty-six alternatives, running away is best.

* * *

_Ireland, 1889_

The Twins were fifteen, their sister eleven. They weren't sure when their operation had collapsed in on them, but they were now on the run, Valkyrie with them. They had made it to Ireland without much incident, except for a man tailing them. He looked like any other human, but something about him made the Twins wary. He had turned up everywhere they went, and was solely responsible for their nomadic lifestyle.

They were not fond of this man.

One had gone off to "negotiate" for tickets to either Europe or America; Two was keeping lookout with Valkyrie. Passers-by were giving them odd looks, but Two understood that humans considered albinos a rarity and were uncomfortable around them. He and his family weren't albinos, but they did resemble those humans with that genetic defect. Valkyrie tugged on Two's sleeve. "It's that man again," she whispered. Two looked up to see the brunette and hissed a curse. _One, he's back!_ Two cried mentally to his brother.

_I have the tickets. Get out of there!_ One called back.

Two wasted no time in taking Valkyrie's hand and running away from the ticket station. The man came after them, and Two wasted no time in phasing. Valkyrie followed his example, and they passed through a wall.

-

Seth swore as screams erupted from the boy and girl's ghosting. He ran through the wall after them, only to impale himself on a knife that had been waiting for him. He choked, but yanked the knife out of his chest and glared at the ghost that had ambushed him.

The ghost's eyes went wide as he realised that the blood pouring down Seth's chest wasn't causing him to weaken and die. "One!" cried the little girl, and he ran. Seth bolted after him, cursing the young ghostlings' speed, but lost him, his brother, and his sister.

"I need a new assignment," he muttered.

* * *

Not all who wander are lost.

* * *

_Oklahoma, America, 1890-92_

The Twins eventually settled down for a time in the so-called Wild West. When they had arrived in New Orleans, they'd heard about the outlaws that supposedly populated the western states. Figuring they'd like a bit of chaos with their new home, they headed out on the Transcontinental Railroad, only to discover that the towns were filled with veterans of America's Civil War. All of them had guns and none of them would have let some punk with a six-shooter terrorise their town.

Deciding they liked it there anyway, One and Two settled down with Valkyrie. Oddly enough, despite the amount of time they spent in the sun in the two years they lived there, neither One or Two gained any colour to their skin.

As the scorching summer turned to fall in 1892, a stranger walked into town looking for the Twins. By now, One and Two were tired of running. They made Valkyrie stay out of the way and attacked the mysterious stranger, who not only fought back, he defeated them.

Them.

The undefeated.

One and Two were shocked. The stranger was fast, faster than they were. He had allowed them no time to phase. They most humiliating part came when said stranger used their favourite combat moves against them to defeat them.

As they recovered, the stranger had discovered Valkyrie. She took to him quite well despite the sound beating he'd handed her brothers. Two limped over. "Who are you?" he demanded harshly.

The sable-haired man smiled mysteriously. "You may call me Wingless," he told them. "I am here with a proposition for you."

"What sort of proposition?" One asked, joining his Twin. Wingless gave the Twins the same pitch Seth was giving Cain and Abel in Kusel, explaining about the _château_ and how the hierarchy worked.

The Twins engaged in a quick mental conversation.

_Do we believe him?_

_We think he could have killed us. He did not._

_But do we believe him?_

_We do._

A slight hesitation. _What about our Sister?_ Both of their heads turned to Valkyrie, then Two repeated the last question aloud.

"She will be provided for," Wingless answered. "She may stay with you if that is what all of you desire. The deal of course extends to her as well as you both."

More rapid-fire mental conversation between One and Two.

Finally, One turned to Wingless. "We agree to your... terms."

Wingless stretched a bit and stood, removing a key from deep within his jacket. "Come with me," he said.

* * *

Those who live by the sword are probably pretty fucking good at it.

* * *

One and Two were impressed by the _château_. Standing there in their once-white clothing, their dusty hair hanging around their shoulders, they both felt an almost overwhelming surge of inferiority. This was quickly quashed between the pair of them.

"Tiger!" Wingless called.

A small boy appeared from a room, looking curious. "Entertain Valkyrie, Tiger. Her brothers are going to see the Merovingian," Wingless ordered. Tiger nodded and shyly approached an equally shy Valkyrie.

As the two played the age-old game of "Getting To Know You," Wingless took the Twins to their new boss. Right after they got there, the doors opened again, and the man who had been chasing them all over Great Britain walked in, leading two young men with him. The Twins regarded this new pair coldly. The taller of the pair had black hair and brown eyes; the shorter brown hair and grey eyes. Both of them watched the Twins through narrowed eyes, as if calculating their strength of will. Two leaned towards One and whispered, "They do not look like much. We think they will be easily defeated." One looked them over again and shook his head. "We do not agree. They both bear battle scars; their eyes have seen death and their hands have caused it. We think that they would make formidable opponents and even better allies."

The taller of the new pair glared at them before telling his companion, "_I bet we could take them,_" in a language neither Twin understood. The shorter sized them up for a moment, then replied, "_I don't know, cousin. Both of us are here because we killed those men earlier, and because we helped defeat that vampire colony. I have a feeling that they're here for similar reasons._"

Seth and Seraph exchanged knowing, superior smiles. Both hands of the Merovingian could sense the rivalry already starting between ghost twins and wolf cousins. Judging the moment to be right, they simultaneously uploaded knowledge of French and the language of the rival pair to their charges: German to the Twins and English to the cousins.

All four boys jumped in surprise, then glared suspiciously at each other. "Come," said Seraph. "He's waiting."

The Merovingian smiled as he regarded the four teenagers. At last, he had the assassins and bodyguards he wanted. As the only ghosts, the Twins would answer to neither of the two hordes, and the werewolf cousins would most definitely defy Cujo's pack. Exactly as he had wanted it.

There was a ripple in the Matrix as the Second Cycle ended and the Third Cycle began. As anticipated, the werewolves and vampires in his territory were unaffected.

The Merovingian was well pleased.

* * *

_After forever and a day, the Twins' story is out! Worship me! _

_…_

_I said _worship_, damn it!_

_Kidding, you know I love you guys. _

****

* * *

_ EDIT 21 Nov 05 - Author's notes deleted as per new rules._


	3. Vampire's Story

the matrix  
second cycle

part 3: vampire's story

* * *

"Evil is a point of view." -- Lestat, _Interview With A Vampire_

_

* * *

_

_Romania, 1891_

Even his youth couldn't keep him from being hunted down by an animal. He was nine years old, and he'd been running for most of his very short life. He was not welcome in any of the villages he set foot in, and was chased out by either an angry mob or a group of strangely dressed men.

When the craving became too strong for him, he would attack anything that came near, be it human or animal, often killing it in the process. He didn't mean to do so, of course, but he couldn't control himself, couldn't control the urge, the instinct to completely drain the blood from his victim's body – and he hated himself for his lack of control.

His dark hair clung to his neck, damp with sweat despite the cold air. Steam issued from his lips as he breathed and rose off his normally cold body in waves; snow melted when he stumbled and fell, leaving depressions that marked his path as assuredly as his small footprints did.

He was falling more often now, from both exhaustion and hunger. He hadn't fed in some time, hadn't slept for nearly as long, and had been running for at least a few hours from the strange suited men who never seemed to tire. At last he fell, unable to rise and continue. He tried, whimpering as sore muscles protested, then gave in to his exhausted body's demands, losing consciousness as snow fell and covered his small body.

He was therefore unaware of the female tiger that almost stumbled over him, alerted to his presence by his scent almost at the last minute. She dug him out and lay beside him to keep him warm, treating him as a cub. Strange behaviour for a tiger, but she was no ordinary tiger. She was one of the sentient programs of the first Matrix, trapped as a tiger in her escape from deletion during the turnover from Paradise into Hell.

She was no longer capable of communication, but the intuitive program was able to care for the small one and keep him warm, not yet realising that sheer cold would not kill him. As the wind changed, she picked up the scent of those hunting the child and came to a decision.

Siberia, as she had once been called, woke the child and managed to indicate that he should get on her back. It took him a moment to get it, then, still half-asleep, climbed on, wrapping slender arms around her neck and laying his head against hers, nuzzling the warm fur. She sprang into a run, taking care not to dislodge the young one.

She knew who to take him to, but unfortunately did not know the location. However, there was a safe point that the angels would check regularly, so she could leave him there without worrying about these new guardians of the system. Perhaps she would even get lucky and the Merovingian would reward her with a human-based shell!

A tiger could hope, anyway.

Siberia loped off, doubling back, circling around, leaving as a confusing a trail as possible for her inevitable pursuers. The child on her back moaned softly after a few hours, saying one word: "Hungry..." So was she. She loped off to hunt and quickly found some prey. Setting the child down, she set off after the creature, not seeing the boy raise his head, red flashing in his eyes.

When she returned, dragging the carcass of a deer, she found him curled up near the body of one of their suited pursuers, lower half of his face smeared with blood, eyes closed and sleeping peacefully. Now she knew what this child was, and knew why these men had been chasing him. One of the vampires, due for deletion soon after his "birth". It was even more urgent that she get him to relative safety.

Siberia feasted upon her catch, then she and the silent child set off. He was much stronger now that he'd fed and rested, almost keeping up with her. He really was quite adorable, Siberia decided, even with blood dripping from his child's face.

After a week's travel, they arrived at the safe house just as one of the angels walked out. Seth, his brown ponytail now more than halfway down his back, paused as Siberia arrived with the boy. He arched an eyebrow. "Well, look at what the cat dragged in," he murmured, looking the young vampire over. The child stared back at him, eliciting a laugh from the much older program. "You, I like. What's your name, kid?"

The boy frowned, not sure of the answer. Seth frowned as well. "No name, then? Okay, then, we'll call you Tiger, since a tiger led you here."

The vampire tipped his head to one side, trying out the new word as if he was tasting it. "Tiger."

The first syllable exposed his slim fangs, and Seth grinned. "Bloodsucker, eh? I know just the place for you, kid. Why don't you come with me?"

The newly-christened Tiger considered this. "Why?"

"There's a program called the Merovingian who provides a safe place for programs like us. We're all of us Exiles, you see, so we need some protection from the System. We work for him, and he protects us. It's a good deal all around. And there's plenty of blood for you and your kind, so you don't have to worry about starving."

Tiger at last smiled. "All right."

Siberia smiled as well, or at least bared her fangs. Seth nodded to her. "I think you've been a kitty long enough, 'Ria. You're coming, too." The tiger purred and padded after Seth as he led Tiger to a door.

* * *

_Yeah, it was short. But Tiger's story wasn't really that long. He grows up during the Third Cycle, you see. Next up, the story I know some of you have been wondering about: Shyama, the Invisible Program. The story of Krsna's grandmother. Enjoy!_

_

* * *

__ EDIT 21 Nov 05 - Author's notes deleted as per new rules._


End file.
